Silent Fall

by Barbara Freethy

  "But nothing," he said, cutting her off. "It's my past, and I get to decide what I want to know. Just let me drive. I can't do this right now." He wasn't sure he could ever do it, but he certainly needed to be in a place where he could get away if he had to. Odd that he should think of it that way, as if the past could still hurt him. It was over and done. Wasn't it?

  He didn't pretend to have Catherine's psychic abilities, but his own instincts were telling him that he couldn't ignore the fact that Catherine kept bringing his parents back into the present. It had to be because of his father's association with Erica. Dylan just couldn't figure out how his mother entered into it. Maybe it was that Catherine's senses enveloped everything and didn't filter out what wasn't necessary.

  He rolled his neck around on his shoulders, hearing the crack of each joint. Everything in his life was a big question mark. Two days ago he would have said he had all the answers. Now he had none. But he did know one thing for sure.

  "They made a mistake tonight," he said. "If they wanted us dead they should have done it, because I won't give anyone another chance to kill you or me."

  Catherine didn't reply. He didn't know if she believed him or not. And despite his confident words, he had no idea how he was going to back them up.

  * * *

  Catherine's face was as cold as ice. Her teeth had started to chatter with the ever-present wind blasting through the broken window next to her. She pulled her sweater up over her mouth, but she could still feel the sting of the night air against her cheeks. Her eyes were watering, so she closed them, trying to relax, to find some peaceful place to escape to in her mind, not that her mind had ever given her much peace.

  She should be feeling more relaxed by now. They were a hundred miles away from the city, deep into wine country. The police wouldn't be able to find them; nor would the man who was after them. He had to have given up by now. It was only logical to think they were safe for the moment. Unfortunately her instincts always beat down logic, and she couldn't shake the feeling that trouble wasn't far behind.

  She wanted to believe that Dylan would protect her. She knew he would try. If it came down to it he'd put himself before her. He was that kind of man: unselfish, courageous. She'd never met anyone like him. She just wished Dylan could see himself for what he was now. In his head he still saw the cowardly child who couldn't escape the bully, the one who did everything wrong and nothing right, the one who felt isolated, lost, and helpless. All the bad things he'd ever heard about himself probably played over and over in his head every night before he went to bed. It was always easier to believe the bad stuff people thought about you than the good. She knew that firsthand.

  She wanted to break through his emotional walls, but they were built strong and sturdy, made to last. Once in a while she slipped through a small break, but then he threw up the barricades and pushed her out.

  Dylan was afraid of her, made uncomfortable by what she saw in him. He wasn't the first man she'd terrified with her visions, and she doubted he would be the last, but he was the only one she really wanted to stay. But he would go—eventually. She knew that as surely as she knew anything. Dylan didn't want to be with a woman who could see into his head, who knew where he came from, who had heard all his secrets. She didn't think he'd shared his past with any one of the women he'd dated. He blamed himself for not standing up to his father, for not fighting back, for not being able to win. So he kept that loser hidden behind his big, strong walls.

  The man he was today always won, always succeeded. Dylan would someday find a woman who'd add credence to his reputation, someone beautiful and educated and not at all crazy, not at all quirky—not at all like her. He wanted perfection in every part of his life. She didn't blame him for that. She'd yearned for the perfect life, too. But lately she'd begun to realize that she didn't want perfect anymore. She just wanted love, real love, the kind that blossomed with the years, grew stronger with the trials of life, a love that didn't waver in the face of doubt, a love that probably didn't exist in the real world. She'd certainly never seen it. But still she believed in it. What a romantic fool she was.

  Letting out a sigh, she tried to redirect her thoughts, think of something else, find some image that wasn't Dylan or his father or his mother or Erica. She wanted to slip into one of her peaceful paintings—the pretty meadow, the quiet pool, the beach where her dogs liked to run. But those images couldn't take shape in her mind. They were being pushed away by a dark shadow that spread and enveloped everything in its way.

  His motel room faced the highway. The cars whirred by, a relentless roar of engines. The orange light from a fast-food restaurant sign blazed through the sagging curtains at the window. The place was a rat hole. He would be able to afford the Ritz after he finished this job, and he was itching to do just that. But not just yet, because the fucking asshole he was working for wanted to play games.

  The voice rang through his head again, the cryptic instruc tions, the odd requests. What the hell was going on? He was a killer, not a game player. When he shot, he shot to kill, not to scare, not to make someone run. But he'd had his orders. And he'd completed his task. Soon he would get to finish the job. The time couldn't come quickly enough for him.

  He picked up the phone, punching in the familiar number. "There's two of them, you know. That's double the price if you want them both dead." He listened, his heart soaring at the response. This was going to be sweet. He would trap her. She would know there was no way out, and then she would take her last breath at his command. He couldn't wait. "I under stand," he said. "The woman dies first. No problem. No prob lem at all."

  Catherine started, blinking open her eyes, desperate to escape the darkness in her head. She'd seen him again, and he wasn't just after Dylan now. Her heart thudded against her chest. She was next. The woman

  dies first. He'd been talking about her.

  "Oh, God," she breathed.

  Dylan glanced over at her, his gaze narrowing in alarm. "What's wrong now?"

  "He's going to kill me first."

  "Who?"

  She knew Dylan wanted her to identify the man, but she hadn't seen him. She'd been him. She'd felt his delight at the prospect of watching her die. He wanted her cornered, isolated, alone.

  Her breath caught in her chest as her mind shot down another haunted corridor in her head, a place she never went, except perhaps in her nightmares, but never when she was awake. She fought to stay in the light, but the shadows sucked her in.

  Someone called to her, a voice from a long time ago, his words silky and smooth with evil intent. She clapped her hands over her ears. "No," she said loudly. "Don't. Go away. Stop!"

  "Catherine."

  She heard Dylan calling to her, but his voice wasn't as strong as the other man's.

  "Where are you, little girl? Where are you hiding, sweet pea?"

  She held her breath, shrinking into as tight and small a ball as possible. He couldn't find her. He couldn't. She chanted the words over and over again, her gaze catching on the drops of blood staining her toes. She buried her face in her cotton nightgown, smelling her own fear, tasting her own vomit, hearing the screams in her head. If he found her he would kill her, too.

  She felt the car swerve, then come to a jolting stop. The seat belt snapped her back into place. Her eyes flew open as Dylan grabbed her hands, pulling them away from her ears so she could hear him.

  "Dammit, Catherine," he said forcefully. "Talk to me. Look at me."

  Dylan's commands drove the other man back into the recesses of her mind.

  She stared at him, her chest heaving as she tried to breathe. Dimly she realized he'd pulled over to the side of the highway.

  "What the hell is going on, Catherine? Are you having another vision? Are you connecting with the guy who's trying to kill us?"

  She wanted to answer him, but the words wouldn't come. Her present and her past were blurring together. She wanted to escape, but there was no way to leave the terrors of her own
mind. She felt very close to the edge of a perilous cliff. All her life she'd wondered if one day she would snap, one day she would break in two, one day she would go to sleep and never wake up. A person could only take so much. And tonight's attack on her life had reminded her of the last time she'd dodged death.

  Blinking rapidly, she tried to focus on something real, something right in front of her. She feared she was losing it big-time, and she couldn't help wondering how many more chances she would get before someone succeeded in killing her.

  "Catherine, pay attention to me."

  Dylan's words made her turn her head. His hands reached again for hers, his warmth cutting through the cold chill.

  "You're freezing," he said, rubbing her fingers hard. "I should have stopped before this."

  "I'm . . . I'm okay," she said finally. One day she would have to face what was in her head, but not today, not now. She wasn't ready. She had too many battles to fight, too many killers to face. She couldn't beat them all at once.

  "Can you tell me what you saw?" Dylan asked.

  "He's going to kill me first. Then you."

  Dylan's eyes widened. "Where? When?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know. But he's somewhere out there, and he doesn't seem worried about finding us. How can he know where we're going to be when we don't know?"

  "He doesn't know where we are right now. He can't," Dylan told her. "He's not that powerful."

  "I think he is—or someone is," she amended. "Someone who's telling him what to do. And that person wants you to watch me die."

  He cupped her face with his hands. "That's not going to happen. I swear to God I won't let that happen."

  "I know you'll try—" she began.

  He cut her off with a shake of his head. "No, I won't just try. I'll succeed. You have to believe in me, Catherine, the way I believe in you."

  For the first time she looked into his eyes and saw complete and utter acceptance. He'd told her earlier that he'd lost his faith, but somehow he'd found it in her. She was overwhelmingly touched. And if he could believe, then so could she.

  "I do," she whispered. "I do believe in you." She ran her finger along his strong jaw and saw the pulse jump in his neck. "I want to show you how much."

  "Catherine." He breathed her name on a note of husky desire.

  "Take me somewhere," she said. "Let's stop running just for a little while."

  * * *

  Her head hit the bed two seconds after they entered the motel room.

  The reckless energy between them exploded as their mouths met, their tongues tangling together in an impatient dance of need and desire. Catherine didn't want to think anymore. She didn't want to lose herself in the past or the future, just the present—in Dylan's arms. She wanted to feel him on top of her, beneath her, inside of her. She wanted to take his strength, his confidence, his power, and make them her own. She was being selfish, but she didn't care. She needed to take, and he seemed more than willing to give.

  Dylan tugged at her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. He tossed it on the bed as his mouth immediately sought the curve of her neck. He sucked her skin between his lips, and she gasped at the sharp tingle that spiraled through her. His mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the edge of her bra as his fingers played with the front hook. He seemed to take an agonizingly long time to undo the clasp. Finally he opened it, pulling aside the lacy cups. His strong, tanned hand palmed her breast, his thumb grazing her nipple.

  She let out a small cry, then wantonly pushed her breast into his hand. His mouth moved lower, his tongue sliding down the valley between her breasts. She felt a line of fire race through her veins. And when his mouth closed over her breast, she pulled his head closer, twisting her fingers in the fine strands of his hair. She sank further into the mattress as he tugged on her nipple with the edge of his teeth. Then his mouth moved lower, laving a sweet trail down to her belly button. He unsnapped her jeans and pulled them off along with her light blue lacy thong.

  She felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable, and a little afraid. But as Dylan's eyes met hers, she knew this man wouldn't hurt her. "Trust me," he whispered, and she realized for the first time that he was in her head. He knew what she was thinking, what she wanted, what she needed.

  "I do trust you." She sat up, grabbed the edge of his shirt, and helped him off with it.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a condom, then shucked off his jeans. It shocked her that he had protection with him, so easily within reach, as if he'd been expecting this moment.

  Well, why was that so surprising? She'd seen them together in her head. She'd known they'd end up in bed. And he had, too.

  He came back to her, covering her body with his. He put his hand under her head and kissed her with deliberation. She didn't want to go slow. She wanted it hard, fast, wild.

  Impatient, she pulled him into the cradle of her hips. He touched her intimately with his fingers, driving her crazy with desire. But she wanted all of him.

  Her fingers dug into his hips as he finally thrust into her. He was so big, and she was so tight. He took his time at first, drawing out every movement; then gradually his pace quickened. She urged him on, wanting nothing but the mindless pleasure that was washing over her in huge, caressing waves. The heat that had been building between them since the day they met hit the boiling point.

  Her thoughts blurred, her emotions colliding with his. She'd never felt such an intense connection in mind, body, and spirit. They were one. She knew him, and he knew her, in a way that no one else did.

  The closeness they shared suddenly worried her. Would the darkness in her head flow to him? She stiffened, suddenly holding back, but Dylan wouldn't let her retreat. He wouldn't let her put her guard up.

  "Let it go, Catherine," Dylan urged, each thrust taking her higher, deeper. "I want it all."

  He didn't know what he was asking. He didn't know the risk he was taking. But it was too late to stop. They came together, her cries mixing with his. She gave him everything she had.

  * * *

  Dylan rolled over onto his back, a blast of cold air from the air-conditioning drawing the beads of sweat on his chest into goose bumps. Catherine curled up on her side next to him, her head coming to rest in the crook of his shoulder. Her lips touched his skin. The heat of her mouth sent another hot shiver down his spine. He'd thought he'd have her and it would be over. The tension between them would cool. The need to know each other would be satisfied. But he didn't feel satisfaction; he felt restless and on edge.

  For a moment a swirl of black energy had flowed between them. He'd felt Catherine's fear, the terror she lived with. It had scared the hell out of him. He hadn't realized the depth of her pain. Even now it overwhelmed him. A sense of powerlessness unlike anything he'd ever experienced assaulted him, as if whatever or whoever she was fighting were too big for both of them. He was assailed by the urge to run—to get as far away from her as possible. He didn't need her shit. He had enough of his own.

  He jumped out of bed, giving in to the need to flee. He threw on his clothes, not looking at her until he was dressed, but he could feel her gaze with every passing second. The silence was very, very loud. Finally he turned his head, knowing he couldn't walk out of the room without at least saying something, but what he should say he had no idea.

  She was sitting up against the pillows now, the sheet pulled up modestly to her neck. Her hair was a glorious mess of curls. Her lips were soft and well kissed. Her eyes, a deep, dark blue, were filled with shadows. He couldn't read her expression. Or maybe he was afraid to.

  "I knew I'd scare you eventually," she murmured, a gleam of disappointment in her eyes.

  He hated to think he'd let her down. But, dammit, a man could only take so much. He'd been dodging bullets and cops all day.

  But so had she.

  He knew he was making excuses, but he couldn't seem to stop. The need to breathe away from her was overwhelming. "I have to get some air. I'm not scared."
He was actually terrified.

  "Liar."

  "Catherine . . ." He started, then stopped, having no idea what he wanted to say. If she could see into his head, then what was the point of making something up?

  "Where are you going?" she asked. "We're in the middle of nowhere. You can't just leave."

  "There's a soda machine down the hall. Do you want something?"

  "No." She looked him directly in the eye. "Usually I can separate my mind from my body so that sex isn't so overwhelming, but this time I couldn't, and . . ." Her voice drifted away as her fingers plucked nervously at the sheet.

  "What's inside you, Catherine?" he asked, the words coming out before he could stop them. "What happened to you? Where does the black energy come from?"

  Her face paled. "You felt it, too? I was hoping you wouldn't."

  Felt it? He'd almost suffocated in the thick, smothering darkness. "Tell me what's behind the pain and the

  anger and the evil that runs through you."

  "I don't know."

  "You're the one who's lying now. You can't keep putting me off. You have to tell me your secrets. If not me, then someone. You need to get it out before it consumes you."

  "I've tried," she cried, her voice filled with despair. "I'm not lying. I don't know what happened, because I can't remember it. The memory is locked up in my head. And I can't get it out except in little bits and pieces. Because it's . . . it's horrific."

  Her words made him want to run, but some deep inner voice told him that would be absolutely the wrong move to make. The evil inside of her wanted her isolated, vulnerable, so it could feed on her insecurity, on her fears. He couldn't leave her alone with her monsters. He couldn't do that to her. In a few steps he was back at the bed, sitting down next to her.

  She gazed at him, confusion in her eyes. "I thought you were going."

  "Tell me what you do know."

  "You don't want me to do that. You're scared now. It will be even worse if you know it all."

  He suspected she was right, but he wanted everything out in the open. "I felt it, Catherine. I felt the power of your nightmares. I can't help you fight if I don't know who the enemy is. Who hurt you? Who's hurting you still?"